


snow;

by xandermin



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Christmas Fluff, Didn't Know They Were Dating, Fluff, Gay Keith (Voltron), M/M, Mutual Pining, Trans Lance (Voltron), this is basically fluff without plot lmao
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-03-09 00:36:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13469982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xandermin/pseuds/xandermin
Summary: keith spends christmas with lance's family





	1. december 22nd

**Author's Note:**

> ok so i was planning on posting this whole thing as a oneshot between christmas and epiphany, but some personal shit popped up so i'm posting it as 5 chapters instead of a long oneshot bc i wanna get it out there so i stop stressing about it
> 
> also i've never been to america idk how your country works, so some creative liberties were taken

_Keith_.

It's the first thought that forms in Lance's mind as he slowly wakes up from sleep. He is surrounded by Keith; Keith's scent, Keith's arms, Keith's chest, Keith's slow breaths.

Lance's cheek is pressed against the cotton of Keith's dark grey t-shirt, right above his heart. Lance can feel the faint thudding against his cheek. He adjusts slightly, and now he can hear it too. The rhythm is slow and sleepy, and every now-and-again it goes off-beat.

_Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump, thump, thumpthump, thump-thump …_

Lance lets himself take a deep breath, inhaling the smell of Keith's shirt. Detergent and sweat from sleep. It probably shouldn't make Lance feel as warm as it does, but in his state of half-consciousness he doesn't overthink it, he just lets himself feel, slowly.

Lance's awareness of the world takes a good while to return. His legs are tangled with Keith's, they're lying on Lance's shitty pull-out bed in his and Hunk's living room. Outside, the city has already awoken. All the windows in the small apartment are closed, but the sounds of cars and people seep through the walls and right into Lance's ears, raising his mind from its stupor.

He sighs and blinks his eyes open. He can feel how clogged his pores are after missing an evening of cleansing. He sighs, can tell by the light that he should get up. But oh man, he could stay like this forever, with Keith, _Keith_.

They need to stop doing this, Lance thinks. They need to stop waking up wrapped around each other, because Keith isn't _his_ , and this is not what friends do - is it?

Lance doesn't know how many times they've woken up like this. Lance doesn't know how many times they've talked about everything and anything all night until they fall asleep together.

Lance does remember the first time it happened. Two years ago. They'd been doing homework together, then they'd started talking, and when a tired Keith had mentioned going home to bed, Lance had invited him to stay. Those first times it happened, the two of them hadn't been wrapped around each other as closely as they are now. The closeness grew with time.

It's so easy to fall asleep with an arm slung over Keith's waist.

Lance doesn't hold back much when it comes to physical affection. But he's admitted to himself a long time ago that he takes every opportunity to touch Keith; throw an arm over his shoulder, ruffle his hair, touch his arm -

“ _I don't get how Keith lets you get away with that,_ ” Pidge had said to Lance back in September.

Keith had carried Lance on his back over to the cafeteria, before heading to his next class.

“ _It's 'cause he's in love with Lance,_ ” Hunk replied.

Lance had scoffed

But now, as he lies tangled with Keith, he wonders (not for the first time) if it's true. It wouldn't be so far-fetched, would it? In the three years he's known him, Lance has never noticed Keith showing interest in anyone. But has he shown interest in _Lance?_ Or is this really just some brotacular cuddling. Keith isn't the most socially graceful person, so maybe his platonic boundaries are different.

Lance decides that this familiar train of thought will lead him nowhere.

He carefully untangles himself from Keith and stands up. Keith turns to lie on his side and frowns, but doesn't wake up. Lance can't help but melt at the tiny crinkle between Keith's eyebrows.

He tears his eyes away from Keith and goes to the tiny kitchen. He turns on the coffee machine which is a bit too nice for the old kitchen. It was a housewarming gift from Allura, who always insists on getting them much nicer gifts than they're able to give her. Lance can understand her though, if he had the money he'd get nice things for his friends too. And get his pap a new car so that old 30 year old SUV could finally retire. Though Lance is sure that even if he did get his dad a new car, the old man would refuse to give up that old piece of junk.

“ _You were born in this car hijo, it's family,_ ” he'd loudly declare while waving his hands around. “ _And family means nobody gets left behind._ ” Lance's dad also really loves _Lilo & Stitch_.

The front door to the apartment opens and closes, and Lance recognizes Hunk's loud huffs. He often gets up early to go for a walk around the block, says it helps with his anxiety. Hunk takes off his shoes and hangs his coat and scarf on the hooks by the door. He walks quietly by the bed where Keith is still sleeping, and joins Lance in the kitchen.

“You guys ready to head out?” Hunk asks.

“Yeah, just gotta pick up Keith's stuff,” Lance replies.

Hunk hums. “We should leave soon so we can get some breakfast on the way.”

“McDonald's?”

“We need to keep up our poor-as-shit college student aesthetic.”

“Language,” Lance reprimands, more out of habit than anything.

“I'm up for fries,” Keith's voice sounds from the living room, gruff from sleep. It makes Lance's cheeks heat up. Hunk gives him a pointed look, Lance sticks his tongue out at him. Hunk sticks his tongue out at Lance. Lance rolls his eyes and turns around to grab two mugs from the cupboard. He fills them with coffee and saunters into the living room.

Keith is still lying on the bed. He's lying flat on his stomach, fully stretched out with his cheek pressed against the sheets. His t-shirt has ridden up a little, exposing the dip of his back. Lance wishes he could touch his skin.

_God, I'm pathetic_ , he thinks to himself.

Lance sits on the edge of the bed. “Coffee,” he says. Keith instantly sits up and accepts the mug. He takes a big sip, not minding that the coffee is still scolding hot. Lance huffs.

Hunk enters the living room and sits on the beanbag by the bed. The bed is right by the window; they have a fabulous view of the building next to theirs and an alley with some large dumpsters.

Hunk checks his phone. “I have to be at the airport in three hours and traffic's probably hell.”

Keith chugged the rest of his coffee.

“What d'you say Keithy, ready for the best road trip of your life?” Lance smiles.

Keith groans. “If I don't kill myself it'll be a Christmas miracle.”

  
  


 

…

A month prior, Lance, Hunk, Pidge, and Allura had discovered that Keith had nowhere to go for Christmas, and was planning on just staying in his tiny dorm room all by himself. Lance was surprised he hadn't realized sooner. Keith's brother and only family, Shiro, was on a research expedition in Antarctica of all places. He was there with Pidge's brother Matt, picking and studying ice samples (fun).

Lance had berated himself, how had he not realized sooner?

He immediately offered Keith to come spend the holiday with his own big and boisterous family. Keith had been reluctant to accept the offer, but Lance had insisted. He was gonna make the drive either way, and he knew his parents wouldn't mind; they'd been wanting to meet more of Lance's college friends.

They _especially_ wanted to meet Keith, because according to them, Lance talked about him all the time. Lance didn't tell Keith about that.

After two days of practically begging Keith to come, Keith had finally relented, but only if he could pay for half of the gas. Then they argued about that for another two days, until Lance finally gave up and agreed to Keith's terms.

And that's the reason why Keith and Lance are about to embark on the twenty-four hour drive from San Francisco to middle-of-nowhere Montana.

  
  


 

…

They've been driving for six hours and Keith has been asleep for the past four. Lance knows he should probably wake Keith up so they can switch, but Keith looks so stupidly cute curled up in the passenger seat, hugging the large patchwork blanket Lance keeps in his old El Camino.

They're well into central Oregon now, and there's snow covering the mountains and trees on either side of the road. There's undoubtedly heavier snow at Lance's family home, but this is still so nice. It's two in the afternoon, the sun has already travelled a bit, and its pale rays are reflecting off the snow, making everything so much brighter.

While Lance hums along to the music that plays on the radio, Keith stirs.

It doesn't take him long to wake up. He quickly blinks away the remnants of sleep from his eyes, and sits up. The right side of his face is warm from the sun, and his entire body is toasty from the blanket, which smells of Lance's car, so much so that Keith thinks he might steal it once they get back after the holidays.

Keith looks over at Lance. Lance's profile is contrasted by the light outside, so the elegant slope of his nose and the sharp curve of his brow are prominent. His eyelashes glitter in a deep brown as the sun hits them from behind, and his irises look brighter in this light.

Keith is so caught up in the details of Lance's face that it takes him a moment to realize why it's so oddly bright around them. When it hits him, his eyes widen and he scrambles to sit upright and look out the car windows.

Snow.

Keith's jaw drops. He's never seen it, only in moves and pictures. It never snowed where he grew up in southern Texas, never snows in San Fran, and Keith has never thought he needed to go out of his way to see it. It's frozen water.

But it makes everything so different.

“Lance,” He breathes.

“Hmm?”

“There's snow everywhere,” Keith says.

Lance chuckles. “Yeah dude, we're in the middle of Oregon.”

Keith's fingers brush over the glass of the window, feeling how cold it is. “Can we pull over?" he asks.

“I guess.” Lance frowns. “Do you need a bathroom? 'Cause we're passing a town in twenty minutes so -”

“No, no I'm fine, I just – I wanna see the snow,” Keith explains, turning to look at Lance. “I've never seen it before.”

“What, seriously?” Lance asks, voice full of surprise. They've been friends for three years, Lance is baffled by this basic thing he didn't know.

“I've never been this far north,” Keith says.

Lance sneaks a quick glance at Keith, who looks so absolutely wonderful with his dark eyes open wide and cheeks still flushed from sleep.

The road they're driving on is a bit of a detour, it adds a little length to the journey, but Lance prefers it over the highway. So it's not difficult to find a spot where they can pull over. Keith, who had taken off his shoes and socks as soon as they got in the car, doesn't bother putting them back on. He just wraps the blanket tighter around himself, opens the car door, and steps into the snow.

Keith immediately grimaces at the cold stinging his feet. But instead of turning back to get his shoes, he takes it in stride and walks to the nearest tree. The sun has melted all of the frost on the bark away, and only a thin layer of snow still rests on the needles.

Keith bends down and grabs a handful of snow, letting it melt in the warmth of his palm.

“Underwhelmed?” Lance asks from where he's standing with his arms crossed on the roof of the car. Keith turns to him, grin so bright it hurts.

“It's beautiful,” he says.

Lance smiles softly and feels his heart heat up. Keith is standing there, barefoot in the snow, wearing a big hoodie and sweatpants, wrapped in the ugliest blanket in the world, with his hair tangled from sleep.

Lance grabs his phone from his pocket and opens the camera, snapping a picture.

“Lance!” Keith protests.

“Now you can keep this memory forever,” Lance says, grinning from ear to ear.

Lance ends up with a face full of wet snow.

 


	2. december 23rd

The rest of the drive is surprisingly nice. Neither of them are the type of people who like sitting still; evident by how Keith pushes Lance's poor old car to its limits when it's his turn to drive. But, Keith's borderline reckless driving aside, the usual tension that comea from being stuck in a car for hours seems subdued. They only stop a few times to stretch their legs, and Keith is absolutely enamoured with the snow each time. The cold doesn't seem to bother him much, which leaves Lance a little baffled.

They alternate between talking, napping, and singing along to the music on the 24/7 holiday music station Lance found. His car stereo has no AUX chord and the only CD Lance has in his car is _Spice World_.

They practically scream along to _Walking In The Air_ , probably scarring the old man driving the car beside them. They stop at a gas station and get a lot of snacks. Keith manages to leave cheeto dust all over Lance's car, and when Lance complains, Keith just shoves his orange fingers in Lance's face. Lance nearly runs over a deer, they both scream.

Lance can't help but smile when they leave Idaho and enter Montana. He had been less than impressed when his family had originally relocated from southern Florida; he was only eight and he was, and still is, a summer child at heart. But he quickly found that summers also happened in the north.

Lance glances at Keith, who's currently driving. They're only an hour from Missoula now, and from there it's only two and a half hours to Lance's family home north of Whitefish.

Lance wants to show Keith the northern summers too, out in the woods with the endless days, where time seems to melt away and you loosen up enough to just let yourself exist for a while.

They make a quick stop at a 7/11 to get some warm food before leaving Missoula. Lance insists on driving the rest of the way because he knows that letting Keith guide them through the narrow mountain roads probably isn't the safest. Keith learned to drive on flat dirt roads, where you can't really accidentally drive your car off a ledge.

It's dark, and there's the occasional snowfall, so Lance makes sure to be careful, which ends up adding an extra hour to their journey.

It's seven o'clock in the morning when they finally reach Whitefish, and another forty minutes before Lance pulls up in front of his parents' house.

It's an older farmhouse with two stories, a gabled roof, and rich red siding. It's odd to think that once upon a time, Lance and his five siblings all managed to fit in this small house with their parents. The edges of the roof are framed with multi-colored holiday lights.

“Is that the car you were born in?” Keith asks, voice sleepy.

Lance follows Keith's eyes to the old blue SUV in the driveway, illuminated by the porch light.

“Yup, that's the one. Fair warning, pap's gonna wanna show you a stain that he swears is from when ma's water broke,” Lance replies while parking his car right beside his father's.

Once they both leave the car, Keith starts feeling nervous. He's only brought one small backpack worth of stuff, but insists on carrying Lance's things too so he won't have to worry about what to do with his hands.

They climb the steps to the porch. The front door is a bright blue adorned with a beautiful wreath constructed from pine leaves and cones. Aside from the porch light, there's also light coming from the kitchen window, so Lance doesn't bother knocking, just pushes the door and holds it open for Keith.

The first thing Keith notices as he enters the house is the smell. Old wood and leather, fresh laundry, a hint of something sweet. It's so homey it would've made Keith stop in his tracks if Lance's father hadn't immediately come from the kitchen to greet them.

“Lance!”

Lance's father is a tall man, even taller than Lance, with the same brown skin and large eyes. His irises however, are a deep, almost black brown, and his hair is much darker and thicker too. He has a moustache that only accentuates his smile, and from the corners of his eyes grow visible crow's feet.

Lance steps forward and the two men wrap their arms around each other. Lance's father pulls away and presses a firm kiss to the top of his son's head.

“You're all skin and bones,” the older man says.

“You say that every time you see me,” says Lance, wide grin matching his father's. Then they both turn to Keith and Keith swears he might die.

But Lance's father only smiles. “Ah, this is Keith! Little Lance is always talking about you.”

At that, Lance scoffs and rolls his eyes, bringing up a hand to scratch at his cheek to hide the redness.

“I, uh, yeah, hi, I would shake your hand but, uhm,” Keith stutters.

Lance is immediately by his side. “I can take this,” he says, and efficiently unburdens Keith of the luggage, dropping it off by the shoe rack.

Keith feels naked now that his hands are free. He clears his throat awkwardly. Lance goes to stand beside him and places a warm, gentle hand in between Keith's shoulder blades. “Pap, this is Keith, Keith, this is pap,” Lance says, a tiny smidge of pride in his tone.

Lance's father reaches out a hand, initiating a handshake, and Keith feels relief because a handshake is much easier to process than a hug. They shake hands, Lance's father's hand completely dwarf Keith's.

“It is so nice to meet you, we've been so excited to have you here,” the older man says. It stirs something in Keith, a sense of safety and reassurance.

“Thank you for having me sir.”

“Oh no please, call me Luis! You can only call me sir if you break my son's heart,” Luis says, expression stern

Both boys flush at Luis' words, but Keith still gives a small nod.

The smile returns to Luis' face and he lets out a small short laugh. “Come, I made waffles.”

He leads them into the kitchen, which is just as cluttered and homey as the entryway. The cabinets are white with dark wooden counter tops. When Keith sits down on one of the chairs by the small round table, the old wood creaks dangerously under him. The table is right under the window. It's still quite dark outside.

Lance moves to help his father set the table, but Luis shakes his head and tells his son to sit.

The waffles are slightly burnt, but good. They eat in silence for the first few moments. Keith relishes in the feeling of sitting somewhere that isn't a thirty year old car seat.

“I thought mama took the day off?” Lance asks.

Luis takes a sip of his coffee. “There was an emergency at the park,” he explains. “She should be back before six,” he offers with a small smile.

Lance bites his lip, then smiles. But Keith can tell that he's still a little disappointed. He nudges Lance's foot with his own under the table. Lance nudges back, and keeps his foot right beside Keith's.

Louis sees that Keith's plate is empty and pushes the platter of waffles towards him. “Eat, eat, we have too much food in this house.”

“That's because you refuse to acknowledge that we've all moved out,” says Lance.

“Nonsense, you know how much tia eats,” Luis jokes.

Keith has heard many stories starring Lance's tia – well, technically, she's his great-aunt, she's the sister of Lance's abuelita. When her wife died three years ago, she moved in with Lance's family. She's as old as time and wears a large old wolf pelt when she goes out into the woods.

“Tia still asleep?” Lance asks. Luis nods.

The sudden sound of heavy paws against the creaking floorboards cause Keith to turn his head. In the doorway to the kitchen stands the largest dog he has ever seen, with pointed ears, alert brown eyes, and thick white and grey coat.

The dog sits, seemingly patient but its tail is practically slamming against the floor. Keith recognizes the dog from the hundreds of pictures and videos Lance has shown him – her name is Joy.

Lance leaps out of his seat and goes to kneel in front of the dog, wrapping his arms around her. She immediately stands up and starts licking his face. She hops up and puts her huge paws on Lance's shoulders, making him groan.

“Baby, you're too heavy!” he scolds, but the dog just grunts in response before continuing to lick Lance's face. He turns his head to look at Keith. “Keith help, I'm under attack!” he pleads, just as Joy puts enough weight on his shoulders to make him fall backwards. Keith and Luis both start laughing

Once Joy is done greeting Lance, she simply steps over him and trots over to where Keith is sitting. She sits down, panting from excitement. Keith reaches out with both hands to scratch her behind the ears. She immediately pushes into his touch and attempts to scoot closer to him, grunting in approval.

“Hi girl,” Keith coos. The wagging of Joy's tail intensifies at the kind tone of his voice.

Lance sits up and turns to look. He swears he can feel himself melt into the floor, watching Keith cuddling his dog. Lance was not adequately prepared, evident by how warm his face is. He catches his father's eye; Luis is watching him with a knowing grin, making Lance duck his head.

“She's so much prettier in real life,” Keith comments, voice a little higher than normal. Joy lets her head rest fully on Keith's lap, gazing at him with fond eyes.

“She doesn't normally take this kindly to strangers,” Luis notes. “She's very protective of her family.”

Keith leans down to kiss the spot between Joy's eyes. “She's so smart,” he praises, and Joy preens.

“Lance, finish eating! You should sleep a little before your mom gets home,” Luis says to Lance, who's still sat on the floor with a lovestruck expression on his face. Lance quickly stands up, almost tripping over his own limbs in his haste.

They finish breakfast. Keith and Lance offer to help clear the table, but Luis herds them out of the kitchen.

“He's only letting me off the hook because we just got here,” Lance says as he lifts his baggage. “Once the novelty of having me home wears off, he'll start bossing me around.”

Keith chuckles and follows Lance up the narrow stairs. Joy follows them, tail still wagging.

Upstairs is a narrow hallway. Lance leads Keith to the second door on the left. As soon as he opens the door, Joy squeezes her way between them and walks into the room. Lance holds the door open for Keith.

“Welcome to the home of Lances past.”

Keith enters the room and looks around. The room is very small with a slanted ceiling and window, the window is partly covered by snow. Lance flips on a switch and the ceiling light turns on, showering the room in light.

The walls are a muted blue, the ceiling is dark wood, as is the floor. In the corner stands a twin bed with an abundance of pillows and blankets. And on the floor beside the bed is a slim air mattress for Keith, fully equipped with bedding.

Keith lets his bag fall to the floor by his makeshift bed and sits down to pull off his socks. Lance also unceremoniously drops his things and crawls onto his bed. He pulls the covers up over his head and sighs.

“It's so cold,” he whines, voice muffled.

Keith rolls his eyes. “You're always cold.”

Lance exposes just enough of his face to send Keith a pointed glare. “If you keep being an ass I'll tell my dad and he'll kill you. Joy, lights out!”

The dog turns off the switch with her nose, and the room falls back into darkness. Then she leaps onto the foot of Lance's bed and curls up on top of his covered legs.

Keith flops back onto the mattress and turns his eyes to look at the ceiling. It's decorated with what looks to be hundreds of glow-in-the-dark stars. Keith smiles.

“Dad likes you,” Lance says after a moment of silence. His voice is smaller, thicker somehow. “I mean, he likes most people, but y'know."

Keith hums. He wonders if his own father would've liked Lance. There are too many holes in Keith's memories for him to form a believable image of what his father would have thought. And his mother … Keith has never even seen her face outside of a faded photograph. The picture is folded in half, hidden in the bottom drawer of his dresser.

The loss stings. Keith used to wonder when it would stop hurting, but now he knows that the pain will always be there, more or less.

“What're you thinkin' about?” Lance asks. He sounds like he's already half-asleep, his voice is muffled by the duvet that's partially covering his mouth.

“Life,” Keith answers.

“That's deep broseph,” Lance says. Keith snorts.

“Broseph?”

“Broseph, brosephine, bromeo, abroham, brobama -”

“Brony,” Keith interjects. Lance's face twists in disgust.

“No,” he groans, pulling the duvet over his head.

Keith reaches out, grabs the duvet, and attempts to yank it from Lance's grip. But Lance is holding on so tightly that Keith manages to accidentally pull both the duvet and Lance down onto the air mattress.

“Fuck!” Lance exclaims as their skulls collide. He quickly sits up and rubs the sore spot on his forehead.

Keith, who's still holding the duvet, blinks. Then he looks at Lance.

“You said fuck.”

Lance frowns at Keith's words. Then he turns his head. “Nope.”

Keith sits up too. “You did, you _so_ did!”

Lance just looks at him for a moment. Keith can almost hear the cogs turning in Lance#s head. Then he surges forward and starts tickling Keith's sides.

“No!” Keith exclaims, involuntarily kicking his legs. He accidentally kicks Lance's stomach, causing the tickling to stop.

“Ouch man, you didn't have to kick my guts,” Lance complains. Keith scoffs.

“You'll live.”

Lance pouts and lies down on his back, pulling the duvet over his head.

 

 

…

When Keith wakes up, daylight illuminates the room. The snow that had covered the window earlier is gone, and Keith can see the pale overcast sky. The warmth of Lance's body curled behind him is gone.

Keith sits up and takes a moment to look around. He's seen this room before, in pictures, but being here is different. The room really is tiny, with barely any space left on the floor. The only pieces of furniture are the bed, a bookshelf, and a dresser. Three clear plastic containers full of comic books are stacked on the floor next to the bookshelf.

The walls are covered in posters and pictures. Most of the pictures are of Lance's family, but Keith recognizes his own face on some of the poloroid pictures on the wall above Lance's bed. He also recognizes the drawing of an orca that hangs right above the headboard. Keith drew it for Lance on a whim back when they first became friends.

He didn't think Lance would've kept it. But of course Lance kept it, because Lance always has to go and do sweet shit like that.

It isn't the only image of a whale in Lance's room, many of the books on his bookshelf are about whales and dolphins, and above the dresser is a large framed poster showing size comparisons between the most well known species. On the dresser itself is a round lamp in the shape of the Death Star from Star Wars, and then there are at least twenty different skincare products on display.

It has that old homey smell that runs through the whole house.

Keith gets up and stretches, wrinkling his nose when he realizes how bad he smells. He goes to the window and tries to look outside by standing on his tiptoes, but he's still too short. He pouts; it was so dark when they got here, he didn't really get to see what the woods outside the house look like.

He pulls on his socks and leaves the room. He hears voices from downstairs.

Keith pads quietly down the stairs. The voices come from the living room, so Keith goes over and peeks through the doorway.

In an old high-backed leather chair sits an old woman with black curly hair and a nose that crooks significantly to the left. Her irises appear to be black too. Lance sits on the floor in front of her, one of her hands rests on top of his head. Her nails are painted a dark pine green.

Her smile is a mirror image of Lance's. Keith knows that Lance will get the same deep crow's feet when he grows old (no matter how much SPF he uses now).

“Keith,” Lance's father greets him with a kind smile. He's sitting in another smaller chair. “Come in.”

As Keith steps into the room, Lance turns to look at him and smiles. Then he turns back to the old woman. “This is Keith,” Lance tells her.

“He is too skinny,” she notes. “But he has pretty eyes.”

Keith approaches them varily. He comes to a stop before the old woman, feeling a lot more intimidated than he felt when meeting Lance's father. Despite her petite frame, she seems so large.

“Keith, this is my great-aunt Maricela,” Lance says, smiling brightly as he looks up at Keith.

Keith swallows. “It's nice to meet you Mrs.”

To Keith's surprise, the woman stands up, grabs Keith's face, and pulls it down so she can press her lips to his forehead. “Call me tia, you are family now,” she declares. Then she turns to Lance, “We're keeping him,” she says, smiling as she sits down again.

Lance chuckles. Then he grabs the small basket next to him and holds it out to Keith. It's full of nail polishes.

“Choose a colour, I wanna paint your nails,” Lance says.

Keith plops down on the floor next to Lance and takes the basket. He chooses a dark shimmery purple.

 

 

…

The clock reads four in the afternoon when Lance's mother comes home.

Keith and Lance are still in the living room. They're watching _The Santa Claus 3_. Lance has Joy's head on his lap, and Keith's head resting on his shoulder. All three of them startle when the front door opens and slams shut.

Lance's mother is covered in dirt and dried mud. She doesn't say anything, just takes off her boots and socks, and lets her coat fall to the floor. Then she stomps into the living room, coming to a halt when she sees Lance. Her eyes then flicker to Keith and narrow slightly. He lifts his head from Lance's shoulder and sits up straight.

“Hi ma,” Lance says casually. Keith, meanwhile, feels like her eyes are trying to drill through his skull. She's around two inches shorter than Keith, but that makes her no less intimidating.

She finally looks back at Lance. “Hi,” she says, finally smiling a little. She walks over and ruffles his hair. Then she leans against the back of the couch. “How was the drive up?” she asks, expression still a little tight.

“I mean, we didn't die,” Lance replies. She rolls her eyes, then looks at Keith again.

“And you must be Keith,” she says.

“Uh, yeah – I mean yes Mrs.” is Keith's stuttering reply.

Her expression turns faintly smug. “Call me Emma,” she says, then turns back to Lance. “Your father tell you we're having dinner at Leo's?” she asks him.

“Yup.”

She nods. “We're leaving in an hour.” She gives Lance a pointed look as she says this. “And by that I mean _one hour_ , not an hour and a half, not an hour and ten minutes, one _single_ hour.” Her voice is stern, but there is an undertone of fondness there; a small hint of a smile.

“One hour, got it,” Lance says.

She ruffles his hair again, then leaves the room to stomp upstairs.

Lance turns to look at Keith. “Don't look so scared, she's not gonna kill you,” Lance says with a smirk.

Keith slomps back in his seat and lets out a sigh. “You say that now.” Lance elbows him in the side.

“Mama's a little rough around the edges, just be your natural charming self and you'll win her over in no time,” he jokes.

“You're mocking me,” Keith grumbles and crosses his arms.

“I would never,” Lance says, snuggling into Keith's side and resting his head on his shoulder.

Most of the tension leaves Keith's body and he lets his head fall back against the couch. “If you wanna be ready in time, you should get up.”

“Hmmm, nope,” Lance says, popping the P. He takes a deep breath and notices that the smell of Joy's fur is already sticking to Keith, as well as a tiny hint of the house's general scent. It makes his stomach tighten and he can't help but grin into Keith's shoulder.

“Lance, we both know you're gonna take forever to pick what clothes to wear,” Keith huffs.

“Then come help me choose?” Lance asks, lifting his head to look at Keith.

“You're just gonna pick the opposite of what I say, what's the point?”

“The point is that your fashion sense sucks so when you like something, I can exclude it.”

“My fashion sense is fine,” Keith retorts. Lance just tuts, then stands up. Joy wimpers at the loss of her pillow.

“Then prove it by helping me,” Lance says, putting his hands on his hips and looking at Keith.

“You're trying to provoke me so I'll do what you want,” Keith says and stretches his arms above his head.

“Yup,” Lance says. He grabs Keith's wrist and pulls him off the couch.

 

 

…

Leonora is Lance's oldest sister. She lives in town with her wife and three kids Her house has the same homey atmosphere as Lance's parents' house, but less organized. Her youngest kid has just turned two, and the inside of their house makes that quite apparent.

Leo's wife greets them at the door and immediately apologizes for the mess. She introduces herself to Keith, and he learns that her name is Anne. She's no taller than five feet, with dark circles under her eyes that contrast with her pale skin. Her smile is still genuine.

Leo is preparing the food in the kitchen, so before Keith gets to meet her, he and Lance are ambushed by the kids. The oldest is fifteen, and the only girl of the three. Her skin is dark and her black hair is styled in tight braids that fall down to her elbows.

“Oh my God, I can't believe we finally get to meet your boyfriend,” she teases Lance as she saunters towards them with her siblings following her as if they were her little ducklings. The other adults are all occupied by their own conversations, and the oldest sister knows that this gives her free reign to tease her uncle.

Keith blushes bright red and quickly looks away.

“Shut up Gabby,” Lance says. He leans forward and pulls at one of her braids.

“Ow!” she exclaims. She swats his hand away. “Get your nasty hands off my hair you freak.”

”Not until you start respecting your elders,” says Lance.

“You're not even old,” says the second-oldest. He's thirteen, with dark hair and alert eyes.

“I'm totally old, I just look young because I take care of my skin,” Lance retorts.

While they bicker, Keith notices the smallest kid hiding behind Gabby's legs. His ears are red and his wide brown eyes seem to be taking up a good third of his face as he stares at Keith.

“You don't look young, you're just ugly,” Gabby says to Lance. He huffs and rolls his eyes.

“I'm gonna ignore that and talk to my favourite nephew,” he says. He crouches down in front of Gabby and smiles at the little boy hiding behind her. “Hi Theo.”

The kid walks forward on unsure legs, practically falls into Lance's arms, and goes limp. Lance re-positions him into a proper hold and stands up.

“This is Theo,” he tells Keith.

Seeing Lance hold a toddler does things to Keith's heart. Lance looks at Theo with such a fond expression it makes Keith want to stand in the middle of the highway and let himself be hit by a truck.

“I'm Gabriella,” Gabby declares. She then points to the other boy. “This is Sam, he's a loser.”

“Fuck off,” Sam tells her.

“I'll tell mama you said that,” says Gabby.

“You were swearing by the time you were ten Gab,” Lance says while gently rocking Theo who has started suckling his tiny thumb.

Gabby sighs and turns her gaze skyward. “How long until you go back to college again?”

“Never,” Lance replies.

Keith isn't paying much attention to the conversation. Instead, he's curiously watching Theo. Keith can't remember the last time he was this close to such a tiny human. Theo's fists are so unbelievably small, and his ears are so … cute. Keith wants to wrap him up in a big hug and beat up anyone who tries to hurt him.

Gabby and Sam are called to set the table. Keith and Lance follow them into the joint dining and living room. The two of them sit down on one of the love seats. Lance sticks his tongue out at Gabby, who gives him the finger in return.

“Is this the first time you're seeing a real life toddler,” Lance asks Keith with a teasing grin.

Keith frowns. “How is he so tiny?” he wonders, never looking away from Theo. “Aren't you scared you'll drop him?” he asks seriously.

Lance shrugs. “Nah, I used to carry Gabby around when she was an infant and I was like, five,” he answers. “And Theo is much easier to handle than Gabby was.”

“I was a _delight_ ,” Gabby protests from where she's setting the dining table.

“Zip it, the adults are talking,” Lance retorts.

“Ay hija, keep working!” Lance's sister commands from the kitchen doorway. She's around Keith's height and has the same dark brown eyes as Lance's father. “Lance, hand Theo to your friend and come help set the food out.” Her tone leaves no room for discussion.

Lance turns to Keith. “Hold him?”

“I … guess? I don't know how though,” Keith replies, brows furrowing.

“Right just, here.” Lance sets Theo on Keith's lap so his side is resting against Keith's upper body. “Just hold him so he doesn't fall, he's not the best at like, existing as a physical being.”

Keith gently wraps both of his arms around Theo. It's like holding a dog, except this is a human. There's something so overwhelming about it, but it also feels natural.

“Right, I'll be back in two secs,” Lance says. He presses a quick kiss to the top of Theo's head and gets up to follow his sister into the kitchen.

Leonora tuts as Lance enters the kitchen.

“You said on the phone that he wasn't your boyfriend.”

Lance feels the heat rise in his cheeks. “He isn't! We're just friends.”

“Lance, you look at him as if he's the Lord Jesus Christ himself,” Leo says.

“Leo, don't take the Lord's name in vain,” Lance's father reprimands. He seems to have taken control of the stove.

Leo rolls her eyes. “Yes papa.” She turns back to Lance and flicks his temple.

“Ow, what are you -”

“Stop pussyfooting around and tell him you like him,” Leo demands, crossing her arms.

“It's not that easy, I don't know if he feels the same way,” Lance says, voice small. He shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

Leo glares at him. “He _obviously_ likes you, why else would be willingly spend 24 hours trapped in a car with your whiny scrawny ass?”

Lance looks to his father. “Papa, tell Leo to stop.”

Luis chuckles. “Your sister is right Lance.”

“You _always_ side with Leo, I _knew_ she was your favourite!”

“No, Ximena is my favourite, you two bicker too much,” Luis says.

Leo spins on her heel and glares at her father. “We inherited that from _you_ ,” she says.

“Yes, and I hate it,” Luis responds. “Now come set the food out.”

 

 

…

Dinner is lovely, which is a cheesy way to describe it but it's true. Keith hasn't had a home-made meal like this in a long time; neither he nor Shiro ever bothered to learn how to cook.

While they eat, conversation flows freely – and loudly. The adults seem to be more boisterous than the teens. It's a bit overwhelming to Keith, who prefers the quiet. But there's a warmth in the way everyone speaks. And Lance was not kidding when he said he gets his gesticulations from his dad. Luis' hands are practically constantly moving, almost hitting his wife in the face at one point.

They don't make it back to Lance's parents' house until twelve in the morning, and Keith just wants to sleep.

Once Lance and Keith get to Lance's room, Keith promptly falls face-first onto the air mattress and immediately starts falling asleep.

“You gonna sleep in jeans?” Lance asks.

“Hmmph,” comes Keith's grumbled response.

Lance rolls his eyes. Then he sits down cross-legged on Keith's back, making sure all of his weight rests on Keith's body.

Keith moves his head to the side so his voice won't be muffled by the pillow. “Have you gained weight?”

Lance digs the heel of his foot into Keith's back, causing him to grunt. Then he stands up.

“I'm going to the bathroom, and when I get back you better not be wearing pants,” he says.

When he gets back to his room, Keith has taken his shirt of and is wearing a ragged pair of grey sweatpants. He's lying on his stomach with his arms crossed under his head. Lance's existence stutters for a moment at the sight of Keith's bare back and the way his muscles move in rhythm with his deep breaths.

Lance turns off the ceiling light, so the faint warm glow of the fairy lights strung around his bed becomes the main source of light in the room. He crawls into bed and pulls the duvet up to his chin, moving carefully so Keith won't stir.

He needs to confess his feelings to Keith. But he doesn't know how. And he's scared. He knows his fears and insecurities are irrational, knows that Keith is so kind and good. But for whatever reason, those reassuring thoughts don't do anything to lessen Lance's anxiety.

Lance has liked plenty of people before, but this is different. Different because he feels so much _more_. He knows, _knows_ that he loves Keith, and that's absolutely _terrifying_.

Lance watches Keith's face as he sleeps. Keith's straight black lashes flutter subtly as his eyes roam behind his closed lids, following a dream Lance can't see. Keith's cheek is squished against his arm, his mouth is open, and he's drooling a little. He's still the best thing Lance has ever seen.

“I love you,” Lance whispers, so quietly the words barely break the silence in the room. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.

 _Tomorrow_ , he thinks.

**Author's Note:**

> yell at me on [tumblr](http://mcclaln.tumblr.com/) & [twitter](https://twitter.com/xanderuwu)


End file.
